Cracking for kindlin’ and sometimes the hatchet sticks. Fancy pigeons struttin’, growlin’ and cooin’. Watch the hatchet don’t slip. Water drips chatter into whiskey tubs and overflows through tubing hydrate the oaks. Donkeys crunch acorns and crush others beneath their weighted hooves. A Jay mimics a hawk’s scream and blows the songbirds away. Leaps to ground and dabs at the woodstove ash fired wood- bones – wisps of ghost smoke rise. Meanwhile, piles of dirty hay ferments and the vegetable garden waits. Split the wood, take a walk donkey, dog, and she threads the meadow swishes Great Basin Rye before this dark rain comes. Overhead crossing the bleakness a resident raven croaks. While the world outside the farm tilts just a bit more toward half a bubble off plum.
On the eve of the United States Capitol being stormed by protestors trying to disrupt the government’s certifying of the presidential election results. January 6th, 2021.
